


In Perfect Tempo

by the_only_iris



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Comedy, Dark Comedy, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Gen, One-Sided Attraction, Romance, Tragedy/Comedy, Tsunderes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-12-30 10:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18313499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_only_iris/pseuds/the_only_iris
Summary: “I can’t handle relationships, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa had lamented once after his first girlfriend broke up with him. Choosing volleyball over girls, he believed he had set himself straight. There could be no one as dedicated as he. That was only until he met a rather self-destructive drummer with a sharp tongue. She was fury incorporated in a human being, and boy, did she throw him off for a toss. Then again, when passion clashes with passion—does it always lead to a positive?Tooru Oikawa x Tsundere! Drummer! Reader[Loosely based off Motion Picture "Whiplash"] [Slight AU] [Mention of finger cuts, injuries, blood]





	1. 00

•  
  
**What Consists of Living**  
  
•  
  
**Taped Hands and Sharp Tongues**  
  
*****

 

Regret makes us do better things.

 

When the stick hit the snare drum, the liftoff began. I started slowly at first, casually blinding my way upwards. I knew it. I knew from how the rhythm began that the sound I make will be close to perfect.

 

 _Perfect_.

 

What a pathetic word.

 

There was no one around me. No one needed to be. My practice was solo—like the best of my performances. The cymbals cooperated with my every move, my every flow seemed to set the right tempo—I slowed down my pace. I held the cymbal with my left hand and played with it on my right, reducing the rhythm--picking it up with the snare once more.

 

My legs lost it—the bass drum sounded off the walls; my sound-tight music room was magical almost.

 

 _Magic_.

 

They told me I didn’t have it.

 

I hit the snare with the sticks faster, faster and oh yes, much faster than any woman might have screamed to the man making love to her. _Faster_ , my mind screamed as the cymbal trembled with my playing it. _Faster_ , I screamed at myself as I bit my lip—harder and harder; sounding more inappropriate in my mind. The sounds blinded me, yes, that was possible. Sounds blinding people rarely occurred unless you could see sound; one doesn’t usually see sound. Unless you deserved it.

 

My hands were slowly losing their grip around the sticks. The damned red liquid oozed out of the holes caused with my intense beating—but I strove on. _Faster_ , I screeched inside until all I could hear were the sounds the cymbals and the snare made. The bass drum was slowly blinding out of my consciousness. The cream colored texture of my snare now had red spots.

 

And the gold of my cymbals—splotched with red.

 

 _Faster!_ My physical self rarely made me proud—I stopped abruptly when I couldn’t feel the sticks. The rhythm died slowly—the liftoff brought back when silence enveloped the room around me. The cymbal stilled.

 

Blood poured out of my gashes onto my snare drum—droplets fell on my cymbals and a bit on my floor tom.

 

I breathed heavily, in and out; in and out went the breaths I needed to hold back for bettering my best. My tempo was nearly nowhere close to good.

 

Both my hands had gashes tearing open, begging to be healed—I ignored their cries as usual, I dipped my hand into the jar full of melting ice and winced; I needed to become numb to the calls of my physical self. I needed to reach a state where I can prove those who wronged me wrong.

 

Being underestimated is the best feeling in the world. I like the look on their face when I prove them wrong.

 

          “[Surname]-chan! Your hands!” A dreaded fool cried out, before running off to call the nurse.

 

I wasn’t wet behind my ears, that damned fool. I needed this pain. I sought out this pain—don’t people see that it was pain that got me here? Pain that made me this good. No, I sighed before heading out. I was nowhere near good.

 

I walked to the infirmary for the antiseptic lotion and a spare set of tapes that I can tie around my hands. They numbed the irksome pain when I could practice some more. I was sure the time was somewhere close to 5:30 p.m., I wondered what that idiot girl was even doing out so late in school, that too, in the music room. I wasn’t surprised that I didn’t notice her. She didn’t deserve it, anyway. Regular. Annoying. Distracted. That was who she was to me.

 

          “Your hands are bleeding!” The nurse screeched at me, before taking my hands forcefully.

 

She applied the antiseptic powder first and tied the white tapes around my hands. I stared at her hands, observing how she did it—I didn’t need her the second time. Aobajosai had weird rules, nurses usually left the school once it was 4 p.m. I pulled my hands away after she was done with the tapes. She looked revolted because I didn’t let her tie them. They were nearly never tight enough.

 

I didn’t care.

 

          “[Surname]-chan, I still haven’t applied the—”

 

I horded out, pulling the untied tape from its end with my teeth, to tie a tighter knot to hold it together. I could hear the nurse scream my name from behind me, following me, opening the damn door to tell me I was being irresponsible. But her voices were zoned out.

 

I almost bumped into some random bozo on my way out, weird hair—funny looking face that girls these days call handsome. His gaze fell on my mouth, which was still biting onto the tape attached to my palms.

 

          “Move it,” I snapped.

 

He was surprised?

 

I moved past him instead and tied the knot a lot stronger than before.

 

          “[Surname]-chan! That’ll cause an infection—”

 

          “Don’t care.”

 

I don’t regret ignoring her. I don’t regret these. I’ve used up all my regret to keep my passion burning. Regret. Redemption. Sorrow. Guilt. Repentance. All of these were meaningless to me. Only passion survived.

 

But _tempo_.

 

Tempo was what lived.


	2. 01

**•  
**   
**Moanin' to a Tune  
**   
**•**

No Questions Asked  
 

*****

 

She couldn’t get the goddamn tone out of her head.  
  
Her face carried a frown—a mean one, which most may understand as meaningless anger out of a rebellious teenager, however, the frown was proof that she tried her level best to not let the tone travel from her mind to her fingertips.

It was math class and she couldn’t afford to be scolded yet again. Being scolded meant being noticed; that was something [Name] [Surname] could not let herself become.

_But, Moanin’..._

[Name] bit her lip before unconsciously tapping one finger repeatedly on the desk. When the tone demanded it, two fingers slammed on the desk—making the sound prominent in the classroom where only previously, the sounds of chalk on board were heard. The teacher paused for a bit, causing the girl’s heart to still, but continued on, not wanting to point it out.

[Name] sat on the second row, toward the right of the classroom. Away from the windows. Windows are reserved for the ones in the manga; not her. She was not part of any fairytale story. Hers was action. Hers was fury.

_But, the tone…_

Impatient fingers tapped on the desk once more, for some reason, [Name] had understood now that the impulse was too strong, she could not hold it in any longer. The frown was replaced with the serene expression of wanting to play the tone to the fullest to have it wiped out (temporarily) from her mind. When two fingers slammed on the desk as the overture ended, the teacher turned around with a deadpan.

“[Surname]-san, please solve this on the board.”

The girl didn’t gasp, but her eyebrows twitched. She peered over the teacher and then looked at the half-solved problem on the board before releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Caught at irregular moments such as this, she was no regular on the volleyball team to be on guard. She pressed her lips together before standing up, whilst the rest of the class tried to comprehend why this girl was being punished.

She took the chalk from the teacher and muttered an almost inaudible apology. It was a sort of secret she shared with four teachers nown—four of them had punished her for the exact same reason.  
  


•  
  


“You seriously have a problem, you know.”

[Name] turned to look at the boy beside her, blinked at him a couple of times before discerning if he was indeed talking to her. He looked like a mass murderer, but there was a gentle sort of expression on his face that no one could miss.

“Were you talking to me?” She asked, bewildered.

The boy, whose spiky dark hair should have reminded her of someone, turned to her and sighed.

“Your tapping is what’s giving them a headache. Cut it out if you don’t want to be punished over and over again.” His voice was stern, reminded her of her father.

The girl sighed before slouching on the desk.

“I can’t help it…” She muttered, pouting. “The tune doesn’t leave my head that easily. I _have_ to play it.”

The boy saw the look in her eyes. There was an unwavering sort of gusto embedded in her irises, which sort of made everyone around her seem like dispassionate idiots who had no goals. However, the boy was used to such an expression—having seen it all his life, after all. There was no point in arguing further. He had told her what he thought she should do, and all was left in the hands of her impulses. He wasn’t really surprised when she was punished again in every class after.

When the lunch break arrived, [Name] saw the boy get up to leave. Another rather familiar person, with strange funny brown hair accompanied him—just as he was about to leave the classroom.

“Oi,” The boy stopped, he knew she was directing the call to him. The boy next to him, the weird hair kid, peered down and blinked at her. “Sometimes it’s worth it, you know.”

She could see him smirk at her before walking out of the classroom. Sighing, [Name] lay her head on the table and closed her eyes. Another half day, she thought before relaxing herself. Her fingers tapped against the desk mindlessly now that the teacher wasn’t monitoring her, but it wasn’t nearly as loud as it used to be before.

Silence was brought the beast out. She could not listen to the tune if there was noise all around.

She stood up before walking out of the classroom, rubbing her grumbling stomach. If anyone saw her face, they were accustomed to believe she wore no expression at any point of the day. She was free from facial creases more so because the only time her face was ever truly alive was when her fingers held sticks that brought her aura to life. For now, she was dormant, like the speculated sea-monster, that only rose up when the chance was golden.

Just as she was to take a turn in the corridor, toward the vending machine, someone’s strong elbow almost hit her face. She brought her hand up and grabbed the elbow before any impact was made.

“Watch it.” She snapped, glaring—at the very same brown haired boy she had seen next to the boy who sat beside her.

He was pale-skinned, chocolate eyes and matching hair. He seemed like the male version of a barbie doll.

“Ah,” he said before straightening himself. “I’m sorry about that! Did I hurt you?”

[Name] shook her head, “I’m fine. Move.”

There was a slight bit of recollection on the boy’s face as he let her walk past him. He knew he had seen her before, even before his friend was talking to her. She’s always noted in class for something he wasn’t sure, but it seemed his friend knew.

“How dare you speak that way to Oikawa-sama!” A voice was heard next.

The girl’s eyes widened as she turned around with scary eyes and stared at this Oikawa- _sama_. The boy was awed with how angry she looked, wondering if he should be worried at all over her sudden change of emotion. She clicked her tongue before walking away, causing the brown haired male—Oikawa- _sama_ —to narrow his eyes.

“You remind me of a certain junior I had in Middle School.” He said, grinning.

She didn’t dignify that with a response. Oikawa- _sama_ was ignored. The girls around him didn’t mind that however, but this only made the boy’s ego bruise. He was sure to ask Iwaizumi, his friend who sat beside her, what her deal was.

  
•  
  


Two more bloody hours. I feel like I’m going to die.

I turned to my left and saw the boy do the work he was given with precision. Huh, what a nerd. Well, he did seem curious enough to tell me to zip it. He had a point. I don’t want anymore attention to fall on me.

I frowned when I recalled the stupid idiot who was sitting in the far left—a window beside him. This guy was from the manga, for sure. He’s been staring at me for what feels like hours and his gaze is as heavy as a goddamn boulder. I turned toward him and glared at him, only to have him glare back—odd, I thought before turning away with a scowl.

“Is there some problem, Oikawa-san, [Surname]-san?”

There was none. There was none. Stop using my name so frequently. Cut it out.

“If he’s annoying you, ignore him. He usually loses interest in a bit.” The boy beside me said, not even looking at me.

“What’s his problem anyway? He’s glaring at me like I kicked his puppy.” I replied, before turning away like he asked me to.

“He’s an idiot.” Was his response.

For some reason, I think my partner was okay. He didn’t like impossible like most people. I wanted Japanese History to end. After which we could leave. I felt a grin on my face when I thought of how I could birth this tune that’s been eating my head once more.

“Oikawa told me he’s seen you before,” I heard him say. “More than that, he’s seen _those_.”

With a simple gesture of the eye, I could tell he was glancing at my bruised palms. I opened my palms as a reflex and revealed several gashes, near the flesh of the thumb and below my fingers. I heard him whistle a bit before chuckling.

“We all have our addictions.” I responded.

“You really are a lot like him.” he said.

“Who?” I asked, absent-mindedly.

“Oikawa.”

I didn’t want to believe that. My first impression of Oikawa- _sama_ wasn’t a good one, but anyhow, I wasn’t the sort to judge.

“In what way are Oikawa- _sama_ and I similar?” I asked, lifting my gaze to his.

“Self-destruction.” Came his response.

I remained silent. I looked up at the clock and saw that it was close to five minutes for the final bell for the day. I could feel my legs shake, I could feel the tune replay in my head. I decided I would close my eyes until the bell rang. I don’t know why I suddenly think of such things, but it makes me feel at ease. While I concentrate on one thing, I could temporarily forget another. I licked my lips and thought of nothing but the impending sound of the bell. In three seconds, I couldn’t hear even the voice of the teacher.

I opened my eyes when the bell sounded, I as quickly as I could, left the classroom. I almost skipped toward the music room, where my drum set was waiting, and felt as if a bird was let out of her cage. Education never fazed me, I really didn’t think it was as important as people presumed it to be. When you’re good at one thing, you have to focus on it till you become the best.

No one has to teach you hard work.

I sat on the stool before letting out a breath. None of the other members were here, that didn’t matter. I was only a part of the music club for name’s sake—my true intentions were what came after. I held the sticks in my hand before thinking of the song that’s been eroding my mind all day.

_Moanin’._

It began slowly—the liftoff. I didn’t hear anyone come in. The school was let off, the students were leaving either to practice or to their homes, a joyous event at the end of each day. Regular. Boring. Mechanical. It was almost too routinous for me to enjoy it. Most people assume my kind of lifestyle is a routine, but what do they know?

These drums release a new sound in every moment.

I guess I was awaiting the feeling of the sticks falling on the snare for too long, I knew I was being uncharacteristically loud. But, none of it mattered to me. I was right then, underwater, I couldn’t hear a word from the outside; nothing was audible but the sound emitting off the snare, the cymbals, the tom. I pop my tongue out as I continued—in tempo—where were the haters now?

No talent, they said. I don’t need talent to work hard.

I could have been playing for ten minutes or so. I never really bothered about the time when it came to practise. My world, though, came crashing down when the door opened too loudly, interrupting my flow. I cringed before stopping begrudgingly, before groaning and turning to the right—toward the door where Oikawa- _sama_ stood, beside him stood the boy who sat next to me.

“Iwa-chan! This is where the sound is coming from!”

“Why do you care, Oikawa- _sama_?” I snapped, before feeling my hands vibrate.

I needed to continue playing. This insignificant pause was eating my brain.

“Leave her alone. She looks like she’s going to eat you, Trashy-kawa.”

I turn back to my drums and let out a breath. Nevertheless, the door can’t open once it’s already open. I ignore them before beginning another, more violent, liftoff.

The sound of the cymbals flew off the walls; the snare felt like was going to tear open—and my hands, my hands were feeling like they were on fire. My eyes were fixed nowhere, I stared into nothingness, but my nothingness held the place where all my tunes fell into sync. It didn’t matter if my eyes were open or closed, the tune was going to be perfect and that was that.

 _Ah_ , I frowned before biting my lip. _There’s that feeling again._

My hands gradually got number and number—a response out of the weakness of the epidermal tissue on the palm of my hands. I looked at my cymbals, those familiar red splotches.

“Oi!”

“Iwa-chan, she’s bleeding—”

I gasped when the pain was too bad. I turned to my left and saw the stool there, but the jar was empty. There was no ice in it or water for my satisfaction.

I sit back and sigh, letting my hands fall at my sides. _Ah well_ , I thought before hearing the liftoff come to a close; the drum sticks fall to my sides.

“Oi, suicide-chan,” I turned to Oikawa- _sama_ and my eyes widened.

_Where did that playful look go?_

“We’ve got extra tape in the gym. Want to clean up?” He asked, shooting me a low-key smirk.

While I was surprised he didn’t ask me to stop, I saw Iwa-chan, or that was what Oikawa had called him, shake his head. We’re similar, he had said. I didn’t know how—and since we’re first years, I didn’t know what he was doing in the gym either. But, I could tell he was a part of some kind of team.

Basketball?

Volleyball?

I didn’t know. I thought I didn’t care. But, in that walk to the gym, not once had Oikawa asked me why I was pushing myself so hard.

I was curious now. 


	3. 02.

**•**

  
**Finger Taping Is** **—**

  
**•**

  
**—** **Not So Smooth**  
 

*****

 

“You guys are in the Volleyball team.” She stated as they led her to the nearest gym—which was the Volleyball gym.

Oikawa nodded at her before leading her forward, whilst Iwaizumi, she had learned his name at last, walked quietly beside her. Her hands were not oozing blood for her to worry; unlike last time, she had simply reopened her gashes which caused the wound to let out blood. [Name] could feel Iwaizumi’s gaze on her palms before sighing and closing them, fist tight.

“If you keep doing that, then your wounds won’t ever heal. You’ve got to stop till they at least close.” He said.

[Name] didn’t want to respond. She kept her gaze fixed ahead of her and continued walking, until they reached. Oikawa and Iwaizumi had already changed into the gym clothes so they could enter. Before entering however, Oikawa turned and glanced at the girl’s hands and looked as if he was about to say something—but turned away with a smirk and headed inside. A vein popped on the girl’s forehead as she chose to ignore that as well.

The others didn’t notice her there, but simply continued passing balls to one another. She saw the Captain, whose name she didn’t remember, and a few third years who had brought laurels to the school. It had been a whole month since joining, and even if it was May—[Name] knew barely nothing about what her school has achieved in terms of sports. Oikawa led her to the gym locker room, even though it was for the boys, he took her to the washbasin where she could clean her gashes.

“Thanks.” [Name] mumbled, before turning to see him hand her tapes.

She narrowed her eyes. _How did he…?_

“I’ve seen you. You were running of the infirmary, taping your hands in the most atrocious manner. No wonder your wounds reopened.” Oikawa said, grinning.

She didn’t want to reply. She washed her hands first, firmly pressing onto each wound, biting her lip so as to not let out a wince. Oikawa watched her clean her wounds in the most barbaric manner, before he let out a sigh to grab her attention. She turned to him, momentarily, before fixing her gaze back onto her bleeding gashes.

“What is it, Oikawa- _sama_?” She teased, smirking a bit.

“Your wounds will never heal if it’s being pressed on like that,” he said, before taking her hand in his. [Name] didn’t glare at him, and didn’t think of the fact that he’s a boy she had just met—in fact, there was something in the way Oikawa handled her that made her think he knew what he was doing. “Practice is time consuming, I get that. And we can’t waste time with matters like this. It’s irritating when your body fails to come up to the standards you have in your mind.”

[Name]’s eyes widened, but she regained her composure. She could feel Oikawa’s fingers carefully manoeuvre around her gashes, so that it didn’t hurt as much as it did before, but were thoroughly cleaned nonetheless.

“You don’t have to do this.” [Name] let out a moment later, before trying to pull her hands away from his grasp.

Oikawa didn’t let go. He chuckled before deciding not to say anything. Iwaizumi had told him about what caused the frequent punishments in class and also told him of how similar they were. He hadn’t mentioned how, but now the brown haired male saw it. Oikawa held the tape between his fingers before pulling it carefully, and looking at her. It was at that moment did he even see what she looked like—her features were like a normal Highschool girl.

“You’re a normal girl!” He exclaimed, unaware that his thoughts weren’t translated all that well.

[Name] was ticked off. “Oh, nice to see you know the difference.”

Oikawa stuck a tongue out and said, “No, no. When Iwa-chan told me you were self-destructive, I expected more of a rough personality.”

“You don’t look that much of a man to me, either.” [Name] responded, causing the chocolate haired boy to clutch his heart and wince dramatically.

“If you’ll be handing me the tape, I can go practice—”

“No!”

Oikawa stood up straight, showcasing how tall he was and took her hands to roll tape around it. He knew he hadn’t put any antiseptics on her wounds, but was sure with how the gashes were looking, they weren’t far from healing completely. [Name] took this chance to look around the locker room of the boys’ in the Seijoh Volleyball gym. It was huge.

“Well,” [Name] brought back his attention, her eyes still circling all around their surroundings. Oikawa looked at her now. “Do I remind you of yourself?”

Oikawa closed his eyes and smiled.

“Not one bit.”

[Name] laughed, before nodding. Once he was done with the tapes, she examined her hands before letting out an awed breath. _Whoa, he’s good!_ She thought before looking at Oikawa giving her a thumbs-up. She grinned back at him before shooting a taped thumbs-up as well.

“Well, I’m off. Thanks for this, Oikawa- _sama_!”

“Cut it out with the - _sama_!” He fought back, pouting.

Before she ran off, the brown haired male suddenly remembered he didn’t know her name. He was about to grab her by her wrist to ask her, when she paused midway. She turned to peer over her shoulder—one eye blinking at his form, and smiled.

“Name’s [Surname]. See you tomorrow, Oikawa!”

 _Well_ , he thought before turning to put the tape back inside. _It seems I’ve made a friend._

 

*****

 

[Name] finished school practice without any interruption after that. There were seven people inside the music room, each giving her a stare that she wasn’t welcome. [Name] couldn’t help it. Most of them in the room played classical music, and she couldn’t play the classical tunes to save her life. Because she didn’t cooperate with them, most believed she wasn’t supposed to be a part of the music club.

Not that it really mattered to her. She just needed the drum set.

When the clock struck 5 p.m., [Name] grabbed her things before heading out. She looked at her palms as she walked out of the room, noticing that not even one gash had released any bit of blood. A smile lit her features as she continued walking—the sudden sound of ball against flesh alerted her. She turned to the gym, before being curious; she walked over to the window and peeked through.

Oikawa held the ball and was about to serve. He spun the ball in his grasp, for a first year High School student the boy seemed to be concentrating like a pro—her eyes glistened as she continued watching. He threw the ball up in the air before running forward, reaching out one hand to firmly hit the ball across the net ahead of him. [Name] almost let out gasp as the ball landed strongly on the opposite side, making sure it wasn’t out, and Oikawa celebrated with himself.

During that one moment, however, before his idiot self returned—[Name] had seen what Iwaizumi had said. It was as if she was looking through a mirror; the concentration was palpable.

She stood back up before walking away, aware of the feeling of the tapes on her fingers. When one practice ended, another began. [Name]’s feet carried her to this place like it was a path that was etched in her mind from birth, but nonetheless, the place was more home to her than home itself. It was an old vinyl store which no one went to, the store turned museum simply stood on the street like the antique that it was. [Name] stepped inside and noticed the old man by the counter, dozing.

She grinned before slamming her closed fist on the table before him, but before her fist even landed on the table—his hand grabbed her elbow before twisting it.

“No manners and respect.” He said, smirking.

The man was bald, not by choice, and hard a rather large nose. He was tan skinned, smoked a half-smoked cigarette which hung loosely at his lips. He wore a red checkered shirt and [Name] assumed he wore the same mustard colored trousers which was the only pair he owned. Most times, he simply wore beige shorts when he wasn’t handling the museum/store. He had a kind smile, however, a kinder one than most believed he could conjure.

“Jii-chan, let go! I’ve got to practice—”

The man’s name was Nobunaga Ikeda—most commonly referred to as “Jii-chan” by people who were close, and Ikeda-san by others. He was well known as the man with a thousand cats; though he didn’t have a thousand, but only six which left home and came back whenever they felt like it. What they didn’t know about Nobunaga Ikeda was that he had once been a renowned jazz musician of his time, who had even performed at Japan’s most famous Jazz Music Festival—”Live Under the Sky”.

Ever since [Name] was introduced to the man, her eyes have always glistened with never ending passion to perform. Having seen a video of his performance in the many day festival, a dream was born within her. Even though Jii-chan was only a Cellist, jazz was jazz. And the tune made her fall.

“Katsu’s already here, where have you been?” [Name] pouted. “He looks down. Girlfriend problems.” Ikeda-san said as [Name] walked inside the store.

The store had a basement with an entrance inside, the basement was soundproof—this was their base. They called themselves “Ukiyo”, which literally translates to “Floating World”. Jazz to them, detached them from worldly life—it gave everything meaning.

“Katsu!” [Name] screamed before jumping down to the basement, to see him look down; as if his girlfriend left him.

She gasped, “Your girlfriend left you?”

Katsu looked at her, deadpanning. He had [h/c] hair with similar eyes—his facial features widely resembled her own. And the uniform was of Seijoh as well. Katsunari [Surname] was, in fact, [Name]’s twin brother.

“What did she do?” [Name] asked as she twirled around the little room to sit upon the drum stool. She now felt at peace.

Katsu sighed before replying, “Well, for one, she thinks I don’t give her enough attention.”

[Name] scoffed, “Lame.”

Her twin didn’t respond.

The other members of the five member band consisted of Itoh, a twenty something man whose first name no one knew. Itoh wore black shades all the time, even when he played the piano and Mizuki Ueda, a dyed blond who believed he was the handsomest man in all of Miyagi Prefecture. The last member was asleep in the far corner of the basement, who rarely indulged in conversation.

“Where are the others?” [Name] asked, tapping the drum sticks on to the cymbals.

Katsu wiped his trumpet with a cloth before replying, “Itoh-san said he’s on the way. Mizuki’s an idiot who’ll always be late and,” he turned to the sleeping male at the corner forcing even [Name] to look at him disdainfully, “He’s over there.”

“Oi, Aoi-san! Why don’t you wake up already?” [Name] said, loudly.

Aoi, was an 18-year old college student, who fell asleep if he sat still for ten minutes. He always wore a beanie—the color of which depended on the mood—and dark clothes. The eyeliner wasn’t lost on anyone who even glanced at him for a moment.

“No one’s here yet.” He said, yawning.

[Name] grinned before beginning her liftoff. _Doesn’t matter to me!_ The sound echoed off the walls, forcing Aoi to rush to the trumpet, along with Katsu. If there was one thing he hated most than being woken up, it was not following up the tune when required.

 

*****

 

The time was close to 8 p.m. Katsu and I had to head home now. I turned to the rest of the band, who looked worn out themselves, and got off the stool. Katsu sighed before placing the trumpet back on the stand which was fixed to the wall. Aoi-san looked like he was going to sleep there, while Itoh-san and Mi-chan were lingering behind.

I smiled at them all before walking out with Katsu, this time to see Jii-chan actually asleep. We decided not to wake up him.

“So, how was school?” Katsu asked.

I jabbed him in the side before replying, “You were there, dumbass.”

Katsu laughed before replying, “Well, we’re not in the same class. And I can’t even look at you because my girlfriend doesn’t leave me alone.”

“To think she followed you to Seijoh.” I said, smirking.

Katsu frowned, “Don’t, [Name]. I know what your take on relationships are. I’m not you.”

I stayed quiet. I didn’t want to comment on the fact that my dreams were far more important to me than a random high school romance. Drumming came first, everyone came following behind.

“What’s this?” Katsu held my hand and examined the back of my left hand, near the thumb.

I blinked before looking at it, a bluish smudge was visible. I turned my hand slightly to the back and glared at the appearance of numbers written in blue ink—and a ‘ _Call me!_ ’ in the bottom. I clicked my tongue before pulling my hand away from my brother’s grasp.

“Are you changing?” He asked, cluelessly.

“ _Oikawa-sama_.” It came out more like a cuss word than a name.

I smirked when I thought of the idiot and how smooth he thought he was being.

**Author's Note:**

> I've worked so hard on this. Do let me know what you think!


End file.
